Dancing With Desire
by Moniker-Hazard
Summary: Something's going on with Sam, and Dean wants to know what. But what he finds is like nothing he ever expected. *May contain mild slash in later chapters* Reviews would be very much appreciated, if each chapter reaches 60 views I'll start writing up the next one (easily pleased, I know, I know).
1. Chapter 1

Dean had a one-track mind, whether it was occupied with hunting, food or women. But he couldn't remember being so focused as he was as he trailed his own brother into the depths of the city.

They'd just cleaned up a case (the usual, a witch's ghost trying to cause destruction in return for her unjust murder several centuries ago), and now they were enjoying a brief respite in the city before they had to head off to their next job.

After salting and burning the woman's remains, they'd headed back to the motel, had a few beers and turned in for the night. Well, they'd seemed to. Sam had pretended to and, when he'd thought his brother asleep, slunk out of the room and away into the city. But Dean was ready for it. He'd noticed it had become a pattern lately. Whenever they had a free night and happened to be in a populated area, Sam would disappear without so much as a word and return to their room in the early hours of the morning.

If it was women Sam was seeing, Dean was prepared. He couldn't blame a guy for fulfilling his needs. But he had a feeling something else was going on. And he wasn't very tolerant of Sam's odd, unexplained actions anymore. He had to know where his brother was, and – if he turned out to be in a bad situation – he had to help.

So, that was how Dean found himself spying on his brother, following him through the twisting streets and into a shadier-looking part of town. It was around 1am, and a good twenty minute walk before they reached Sam's destination. An unmarked business, a solid black door to mark its place. Sam entered without knocking. Ten minutes later, Dean did the same.

"What the holy hell?" Dean gaped. It was a strip joint. A male strip joint.

Holy fuck. He had not been expecting this. Sam was…gay? He liked to watch men take their clothes off on-stage? Jesus. Never had this possibility occurred to Dean. His brother had been about to set up shop and marry Jess, once upon a time. Now he was frequenting strip clubs…what the…?

Dean wandered through the crowd, reluctant to leave until he'd tracked Sam down and broached the subject with him. If, for no other reason, than to let Sam know that he was alright with the idea; it didn't bother him that his little brother was gay, and he didn't want Sam to feel had to keep this from him anymore.

The place was jam-packed with women – ugly, attractive, slim, large, old, young. And they were all clamouring at the small t-shaped stage, raised a couple metres off the ground with a small silver pole at the back in the middle of the intersection. A man wearing leather pants and no shirt stepped forward holding a mike, his hair was tousled and he shook it out of his face with a wry grin.

"Ladies," he called, his voice low and rousing a loud reply from the women, "are you ready for our next dancer? He's tall, strong and tough. If you've never seen him here before then you're in for a delicious treat!" The women cooed and whistled, riled up already. "We call him…the Beast!"

A curtain at the back of the stage parted and the dancer stepped out. He was tall, and he certainly looked strong with bands of muscle down his arms, chest and legs – but only a perfect amount, enough to make him undeniably masculine but not the ugly bulging muscles of a wrestler. His skin was tanned a rich honey colour and made to seem even more exotic and dark under the flashing of dim and bright lights. His face was pretty but angular, lips curved into a dangerous seductive smile. His dark hair fell around his face. He wore only skin-tight jeans and a plain white shirt stretched taut over his broad chest.

Dean's mouth fell open. He was speechless. He'd been so wrong.

So this was what Sam snuck off to do?

But…then again, Dean thought, looking up at the man onstage, that's not my Sammy. That's someone else entirely.

Yes, it was Sam Winchester on stage, but it was 'the Beast' who started to dance. The beat thrummed through the room, adding to the highly sexual atmosphere. The air in the room felt hot and close, smelling of sweat and lust. The Beast moved with the music, slowly at first as he sank into the role, but then faster and more fluidly. He came to the front of the stage, grinding and grinning, women's arms strained forward, throwing money at his feet.

He licked his lips, winked and pulled his shirt up over his head in one movement.

His skin glistened under the lights and as he moved the muscles beneath his skin rippled and flexed. He moved like he'd been doing it for years (and, as far as Dean knew, he could have been). There was a confidence in the Beast that Sam Winchester lacked, and Dean watched in awe as his brother came alive on the stage of a strip club.

But the music was speeding ever faster, and his movements became even more lewd and suggestive. He popped the button of his pants to eager screams, and removed his jeans in slow sexual movements. In a moment he was standing before the crowd, clad only in skin-tight underwear, a dark red that set off the colour of his skin and the deep brown of his hair.

Dean struggled to swallow. Inexplicably, he drank in the sight of that much bared skin, so tempting and hot and those movements so sensual and dark and-

His thoughts were spiralling away from safe areas, into a darker buried desire Dean hadn't realised existed. He needed some fresh air, and a strong alcoholic drink. Maybe even a cold shower to chase the sudden thrill from his veins.

He made his way out through the crowd, sweltering in his leather jacket. At the door he paused and looked over his shoulder. Sam's eyes skipped to the entrance right then, widening and his mouth falling open in horror and surprise as their gazes met. Sam turned on the spot in a rush to hide the red of his flush and indignation, and to keep in place the calm content exterior for his performance.

_Fuck_, Dean thought. He fled the building through the front door. To his relief, a light rain was dousing the city. He felt the cold water hit his face and sighed. This was what he needed, some bracing chill on his hot body. Whatever change had come over him while he watched that display, he ignored. It had been in the thrill of the moment, he'd been surprised and unprepared, simply reacting to the atmosphere inside the club. How else could he explain it?

He recalled passing a quiet bar on the way to the strip club, and that was where he made his way to. Shaking the last of those disturbing thoughts from his mind as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

The motel was deathly silent when he returned, some three hours later. He walked up to the door, mildly drunk so he fumbled a tad with the keys as he slid them into the lock.

"Dean, there you are," Sam said, opening the door wide and standing back cautiously. He looked just like he usually did: tall, broad, big dark eyes and outgrown hair that flopped across his face at the most annoying times, dressed in a blue plaid shirt over a plain tee, his favourite jeans. Nothing odd. Except…Dean couldn't rid himself of the image of Sam on stage; half-dressed, moving like a man possessed.

"Why do you do it, Sammy?" he asked, aware he was slurring noticeably, but beyond caring. "I can get us money, you don't have to-"

"What? I…" Sam cut in and then trailed off. He raked a hand through his hair, shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable. "I-I don't do it for the money, Dean, jeez."

"Then why? Why would you possibly want to do that? On stage? Seriously?" Just…why?"

"I like it, Dean!" Sam growled angrily. "Is that so wrong? Our lives are so dangerous and lonely and it's nice to spend the night with some beautiful woman and forget about that for a night, but we always leave and…it just gets too much. So I go to clubs, Dean. I started off just watching, but I got drunk and I started…doing it and it was so easy, and so _good-_"

Listening to Sam talk about it was making Dean's head spin with the memories, with recollections of earlier and the way his hips had rolled and his back had rippled as he-

Dean walked away. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"So now you don't want to talk anymore, that it? Now you know why, you don't-"

"Sam," his tone was weary as he dropped onto his bed and rubbed at his eyes. "I can't…I just can't do this right now. I'm…just go to sleep."

"Fine," he agreed grudgingly, dropping onto his own bed with a creak of bedsprings. His breathing was a little harsh at first – Worry? Annoyance? – but it quickly evened out and Dean could pinpoint the very moment when Sam slipped asleep, because he'd sat awake listening to the sound of his brother's breathing when they were younger, after something bad had happened and he'd just needed to hear the reassuring sound of his brother's breaths to keep him calm. It was like that now, but the bad thing was happening in Dean's thoughts, and he had no control over it.

He couldn't stop remembering. His traitorous mind kept replaying those heated few minutes at the club, the excitement of the women, the heart-stopping realisation that Sam was on stage…the building appreciation as he _moved_.

It wasn't normal to think this way, not about a guy and especially not his own brother. Dean was straight, always had been, had never so much as thought about another guy that way with any genuine interest. But now his pulse was speeding at the thought of his own little brother; 'The Beast'.

But he'd been awake too long as it was, especially with all the alcohol in his system. What he needed was a nice long sleep to get those irritating thoughts out of his mind. Things would be better in the morning. Surely.

He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. But it felt so real, as though he was back inside the club. The smell of sweat and sex was strong in the air, and he noticed some of the clamouring women eying him in delight.

"Mmmhmm," one lady purred, she stroked her hand along his arm and placed herself in front of him. He looked down, her hair was long and black and the skin-tight dress she was wearing really didn't conceal as much as it should have. "I'd like to see _you_ on-stage, are you up next?"

"No, I'm just here to watch," he told her. Her smiled quirked up in humour and he stumbled over his words to explain the misunderstanding but she was already walking away. He found a pocket of space off to the side in the shadows, and he leant against the pillar with a sigh.

"…and now…The Beast!" the announcer's voice was met with screams of joy.

Dean turned his eyes to the stage.

Sam stepped forward, his gait was rolling, predatory, like some jungle cat stalking its prey, as was his smile, slow and sexual, he licked his lips and then he began in earnest.

Dean's mind was a blur of flexing muscles and undulating movements, of gyration and slow teasing actions. It was like last time, but more, because now he could get past the shock, push aside the identity of Sam and just watch The Beast.

He was hardly surprised when he felt himself hardening within his jeans, it was annoying though, because he could hardly ignore the swelling lust now. It was more than he usually felt for anymore, its strength was staggering and he found the pillar truly was helpful. He needed to get out-

And then Sam's eyes caught Dean's, and because it was a dream, suddenly everything was different. The women were gone, the club was silent but for the thumping music. Sam jumped off the stage, his abs tightening powerfully as he drew himself up to his full height and strode, clad only in those tight red pants of his, across the room.

"Dean," he growled and that voice coming from such a tempting package was almost too much for Dean, he couldn't resist; he reached out, grabbing Sam's sides, spinning them so Sam was the one with the back to the pillar and Dean was the one pinning him there. "Like what you see?" Sam asked, amusement curling his lips and drawing a slow chuckle from him.

"God, yes," Dean groaned, one hand pressing into the hardness of Sam's stomach as he reached up with the other to drag Sam's face down to his. Their lips crushed together, the sweet warmth between them was almost too much.

"Slow down there," Sam laughed against his lips. "You do know this is just a dream, right?" he smiled, pushing Dean away. Dean reached forward to grab him but his fingers moved through thin air.

"Wait, Sammy, what-"

Dean jolted awake, his pulse and breathing fast, his skin hot and there was an unmistakable hardness between his legs.

"Goddammit."


End file.
